Cabin Fever


Day 346

We’ve been adrift in the sea of sickness and winter for 346 days now. I can tell by the markings the small banshee child has been leaving on the walls. So it’s either day 346 or day 14. She’s only two. Perhaps we should hire another person to keep the records.

Supplies are running low. We have plenty of food but none of the small people will eat it. They seem to be under the impression that they are royalty and will only eat “open sandwiches.” That means that I, the scullery maid, am forced to make 37 almond butter sandwiches per day. Cut the crust off, spread the almond butter (a workout…almond butter isn’t very spready) and leave the sandwich open. The young royalty will then smash the open sandwiches into every available surface, preferably upholstery or the floor.

The animals on this ship just seem to be multiplying. We now have more cats than Grey Gardens…I think. You can’t put your foot down without stepping on a cat. I spin cat hair into yarn most of the night for making sweaters to protect us from the drafts in this 1,000 year old house.

The mice are seeking shelter here as well. Every night at 2 am, I wake up terrified because a cat is playing with a squeaking, half-dead mouse right outside of my bedroom door. These mice must be smart like the mice from Cinderella. What I wouldn’t give for these mice to be Cinderella mice…*sigh.* I tried to put a hat on one of the mice but it wouldn’t hold still. Also, why do mice have to scurry so much? It’s very upsetting.

We’ve been through a terrible storm. The waves were so rough that every single toy we have fell off the shelf and into the floor where it remains. The royal children don’t pick up their own toys. That is the scullery maid’s job, obviously. All the clothes are also dirty which must be blamed on the storm as well.

Have threatened many things this morning, such as “I’m never feeding any of you ever again, ever,” and “Fine. I’ll just throw all of your toys away. ALL OF THEM.” I vow to keep my word. Other words I vow to keep include: never making another sandwich, never taking you people to Disney, never cleaning again, never having fun again, and so on.

The only acceptable part of this voyage is that I don’t feel at all guilty for letting us all watch too much tv. It’s all we have left.

Fare the well everyone. It is now sleeting so it would appear that our time all together has been extended. I’m going to go find a closet to hide in.